The sun had not even begun to edge over the horizon when the piercing, cheerful sound of whistling sliced through the dark bedroom.

Roxanne’s brows furrowed tightly as her eyes remained closed, the noise grating against her consciousness.

Slowly, she forced her eyelids open, squinting against the sudden, blinding light of the overhead lamps Christian had turned on. She glanced at the nightstand clock. It was only five o’clock in the morning. She rolled over, her gaze tracking the rhythmic whistling across the room.

There he was. Christian. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the knot of his silk tie and doing a little, arrogant dance as he whistled. He picked up his leather shoes, inspecting them with intense concentration, and blew off a microscopic speck of dust that she was completely certain he had imagined.

Roxanne opened her mouth to snap at him, but stopped herself. She leaned back against her pillow and just watched the spectacle, a cold wave of pity washing over her. Oh, Christian.

When he finally grabbed his designer suit jacket and snapped his briefcase shut, she propped herself up on one elbow.

"Where on earth are you going this early?" she asked, her voice raspy from sleep.

Christian whirled around, practically beaming. "Oh, you’re up!" he said, his tone sickeningly cheerful. "I tried my best not to wake you."

Yeah, right. By whistling at the top of your lungs. Roxanne rubbed her eyes, her brow pulling tight. "Christian, it’s five in the morning. Where are you going?"

Christian looked at the wall clock, then back at her, a patronizing smile on his lips. "Have you completely forgotten what day it is, Roxy?"

Roxanne shrugged, pulling the duvet tighter around her shoulders against the morning chill. "I know what day it is. But the executive announcement isn’t until eleven o’clock. That’s six hours from now."

Christian’s face hardened instantly. His brows furrowed, and a dark flash of suspicion crossed his eyes as he stepped closer to the bed. "Eleven? How exactly do you know it’s at eleven?"

Roxanne’s heart skipped a beat. She cleared her throat quickly, shifting her weight on the mattress to buy herself a second. "Well," she stammered, forcing her voice to sound casual. "I just assumed that’s when it would be. Aren’t all your major senior executive meetings usually at eleven?"

"Ah. I see. You’re just guessing." Christian let out a mocking laugh and shook his head, the suspicion vanishing back into his usual arrogance. "It’s clear you know absolutely nothing about how the high-stakes corporate world works. As the incoming CEO, I need to arrive early, review the press releases, and prepare to sign all the necessary transition documents."

Roxanne simply nodded, keeping her expression completely blank.

Christian scoffed, turning on his heel toward the bedroom door. "Ignorant woman," he muttered under his breath.

The words cut clearly through the quiet room just before the heavy door clicked shut behind him.

Roxanne stared at the dark wood, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her face. "Well, we’ll see who’s ignorant," she murmured to the empty room. She sank back into the soft pillows, closed her eyes, and went right back to sleep.

—

Hours later.

The air inside Christian’s office practically buzzed with electric anticipation.

He stood inches from the small vanity mirror in his executive bathroom, his pulse racing as he rehearsed. "I, Christian Westbrook, gladly accept this promotion—" He paused, shaking his head in dissatisfaction. "No, too eager."

He puffed out his chest, smoothing the front of his charcoal suit jacket. "Thank you to the board for this opportunity. I will do my absolute best to drive Vance Enterprises forward and bring in bigger revenue than—"

A sharp, sudden knock sliced through the quiet room, cutting him off. Christian spun toward the door as it swung open.

Amelia stepped inside, her face flushed and her eyes wide with excitement. "It’s time, Mr. Westbrook," she announced, her voice trembling slightly. "The board members are all moving into the main conference room right now. And sir, the press is completely packing out the media gallery."

Christian’s eyes lit up, a thrill of pure adrenaline rushing through his veins. "The press is already here?" he asked, his grin widening in sheer amusement. He turned back to the glass one last time, checking his hair and adjusting his cuffs. "How do I look, Amelia? Does the suit look expensive enough for television?"

Amelia smiled warmly, nodding with total conviction. "You look exactly like a CEO, Sir."

Christian nodded sharply, taking a deep, grounding breath. "Let’s go," he said, leading the way out into the corridor.

As they walked down the executive hallway, Christian practically floated, a massive, victorious smile plastered across his face. He could feel the eyes of the lower-level staff on him, and he soaked in every second of it.

When they finally reached the frosted double doors of the grand conference room, his heart was hammering against his ribs.

Amelia leaned in, whispering with a grin, "Congratulations, Sir."

"Thank you, Amelia," Christian whispered back, his ego swelling to maximum capacity. He gripped the cold metal handle, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

He braced himself for the immediate shift in the room. He expected the flashes of the cameras to blind him. He expected his colleagues to stand up and clap, or at least offer a knowing nod. But as he walked toward his assigned seat at the long mahogany table, absolute silence met him.

Nobody reacted to his entrance at all.

Christian’s brows pulled together. He looked around, confusion warming his chest. The reporters in the back gallery should have been whispering his name. His senior colleagues should have been leaning over to shake his hand.

Instead, every single person at the table was completely fascinated by their tablets, locked in hushed, intense discussions.

A sudden, tight knot of dread began to form in the pit of his stomach.

At the head of the table, Richard Vance sat like a king, his imposing frame dominating the room. He tapped his fingers on the wood, his eyes icy. "We will begin the meeting shortly," he announced, his deep baritone echoing over the microphones. "We are just waiting for one more vital person to join us."

Christian frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. One more vital person? Who could possibly be more important today than the man receiving the crown?

Suddenly, the heavy conference door creaked open. A pair of elegant heels clicked against polished marble. One. Two. Three.

Every single head in the room turned toward the entrance.

Then Christian frowned. A familiar scent drifted through the room, high-end vanilla and jasmine. His chest tightened. His brows creased violently. No. Impossible.

Then, a familiar silhouette stepped into the light, wearing an emerald green dress, hugging every curve while still perfectly corporate.

Roxanne walked into the room with effortless grace. She was wearing the breathtaking, tailored designer dress Richard had bought her, her hair perfectly styled, looking more radiant, powerful, and stunning than Christian had seen her in years.

Several board members immediately rose to greet her. Christian’s stomach dropped. Why were they standing for his wife?

Richard looked up. The icy expression he’d worn all morning disappeared. A rare smile spread across his face. "Good morning, Miss Westbrook," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that stunned the entire room. "We’ve been waiting for you."

Christian’s head spun so violently he felt dizzy. He slowly turned toward Richard, then back toward Roxanne. Then toward the reporters, but nobody was looking at him anymore. Every eye in the room was fixed on his wife.